I had the bruises.

And they are exactly why I stayed quiet.

I had the bruises.

They were real. They were visible. And they were the very thing that kept me silent longer than I should have been.

For years after I left, I replayed the moment in my mind: the marks on my skin that could have been evidence, the photos I never took, the doctor I never called. I told myself I was protecting my children, my reputation, m…